shore ye'll hev a fair show
from Hank Kildare. Thar's talk in town about lynchin', but they don't
take yer out o' hyar so long as I kin handle a shootin' iron. I'm goin'
ter stay hyar ter-night, an' I'll be reddy fer 'em ef they come."

"Thank you again," said Frank, sincerely. "All I ask is a square deal
and a fair show. I know it looks black against me just now, but I'll
clear my honor."

Burchel Jones laughed, sneeringly.

Kildare said nothing more, but left the cell, locking the door behind
him.

At noon Frank was brought an assortment of food that made his eye bulge.
He asked if that was the regular fare in the jail, and was told it had
been sent in by his friends.

"The professor and Barney, God bless them! I wonder why they have left
me alone so long? But I know they are working for me."

It was late in the afternoon when Barney appeared, and was admitted to
the cell. The Irish lad gave Frank's hand a warm squeeze, and cried:

"It's Satan's own scrape, me lad; but we'll get ye out av it if th'
spalpanes will let yez alone ter-noight. Av they joomp yez, we'll be
here ter foight ter ther last gasp."

"I know you will, Barney!" said Frank, with deep feeling. "You are my
friend through thick and thin. But, say, do you think there is much
danger of lynchers to-night?"

"Av Mishter Dawson dies, there will be danger enough, and, at last
reports it wur said he could not live more than two ur thray hours."

CHAPTER VIII.

THE LYNCHERS.

When Barney returned to the hotel he found Professor Scotch in a very
agitated and anxious mood.

"This is terrible--terrible!" fluttered the little man, wringing his
hands. "How can we save him?"

"Phwat has happened now, profissor?" asked Barney, anxiously.

"I have received no reply to my telegrams."

"Kape aisy; the reploies may come lather on."

"And they may not till it is too late. I leaned out of the window a
short time ago, and I heard a crowd talking in the street below. That
horrible ruffian, Bill Buckhorn, was with them, and he was telling them
how to make an attack on the jail. Some of the crowd laughed, and said
Hank Kildare had been very slick about getting his prisoner under cover,
but he would not be able to keep him long after night came."

"Av they make an attack on th' jail, it's oursilves as should be theer
to foight fer Frankie," said the Irish lad, seriously.

"Fight!" roared Scotch, in his big, hoarse voice. "Why, I can't fight,
and